


Cruel, Cruel World

by Heather_Night



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Fire, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder Mystery, POV Derek Hale, POV Stiles, Scott is a Good Friend, loss of voice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 06:31:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8738392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heather_Night/pseuds/Heather_Night
Summary: Derek broke Stiles’s heart four years ago.  Now, back in Derek’s orbit while his body recovers from a job gone bad, Stiles is faced with a murder mystery  as well as a mystery of the heart.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another entry in my continuing efforts to achieve blackout Hurt/Comfort Bingo.

_I used to see beauty in people_  
_But now I see muscle and bones_  
_You know I never wanted to hurt you_  
_But I'm sorry, my friend, this is the end_  
_So I'm saying my goodbyes_

_Goodbye to my good side_  
_It only ever got me hurt_  
_And I finally learned_  
_It's a cruel, cruel world_

_\--Cruel World_ by Phantogram

Stiles realized he might have been too ambitious when he’d decided to walk through the Preserve. The goal had been to build up his strength but he found his energy flagging and he longed for a place to rest.

“Hey, Stiles, wait up!” A voice called from behind him.

Stiles knew that voice. Intimately. _Derek Hale_

Maybe Stiles’s healing brain was playing tricks on him. Sure, Stiles’s feet had wandered out past the rebuilt Hale House but Stiles had made the sojourn, safe in the knowledge Derek was thousands of miles away.

“Stiles?” Derek called softly, disbelief in his tone.

Stiles’s feet slowed until he was at a halt. Stiles felt his body powering down.

Shit.

He refused to faint at Derek’s feet.

Stiles had little patience for his body’s limitations but just like Melissa McCall had warned him—okay, lectured him—if he didn’t slow down his body would do it for him.

“I heard you were out of the hospital. Are you okay?” Derek asked, frowning heavily.

Stiles knew he was no prize to look at on the best of days but today his bruises were showing darkly on his pale skin and he was limping heavily. Stiles wondered what Derek would do if Stiles pulled off his sunglasses; his eyes were still heavily bloodshot, a side effect from the heavy blow to the head he’d taken.

“Stiles?” Derek prompted with more patience than Stiles recalled the other man having. Actually that wasn’t accurate; Derek had plenty of patience to spare for others but Stiles had always felt he pushed Derek to the limits with his behavior.

For some reason Stiles had thought Derek liked that about him, Stiles challenging him, but apparently he’d misread the situation. 

Derek was still staring at him, eyes wide with concern. Oh, he was waiting for an answer.

Stiles pulled his shirt collar down so Derek could see the heavy bandage across his neck. Stiles motioned to it and then pointed to his lips, shrugging. Yeah, Stiles could make himself heard but it was hoarse and pitiful and he was told to rest his voice.

Apparently tracheostomies were hard on the larynx. Who knew? Stiles certainly did now. 

“You don’t look so good. Maybe we ought to go up to the house where you can sit a spell,” Derek announced. Then, in that slightly high-handed manner Stiles used to admire, Derek wrapped his hand around Stiles’s upper arm and started towing him back toward the house.

 _Sit a spell?_ Where had Derek picked up that phrase? It sounded like something a grandparent would say.

“Stiles, there you are!” Scott McCall shouted.

The loud noise made Stiles’s brain throb uncomfortably.

Scott appeared, bounding down the path, parking himself in front of Derek and Stiles. “Come on, Stiles, you know you’re not supposed to push yourself too hard. You just got out of the hospital two days ago!”

Every word Scott said, overly loud, drove an icepick into Stiles’s brain. Not that Stiles had ever met up with an icepick but he had a vivid imagination.

Derek transferred ownership of Stiles’s arm over to Scott so now his best friend was his minder. Stiles felt like he was a dog who had slipped its leash, being dragged back home.

“Stiles, I wanted to talk to you,” Derek called out softly as Scott led Stiles away.

Yeah. Stiles was aware. The fifteen letters the other man had sent him had been a pretty big clue. Stiles still had the letters tucked away but he’d never read them. In most things Stiles was fearless but he was definitely cowardly when it came to Derek.

Darkness rolled across his vision like a heavy curtain.

Stiles’s energy finally deserted him, his knees weakening.

Strong arms were there to catch him up. The altitude changed and Stiles relaxed into the warmth surrounding him. He felt safe for the first time in, well, years.

“Thanks for bringing him back. I think he just overdid it,” Scott commented. His tone was placid. 

Steady Scott. His best friend since first grade. 

“Are you sure? I mean, he just passed out.” Derek sounded shaky. “I mean that’s not normal.”

“Well the dumbass was warned to take it easy. The human body can only take so much punishment before it reboots,” Scott answered. “A tracheostomy really takes a lot out of a person.”

Scott was going to veterinarian school. He was going to be an amazing vet. Stiles appreciated his no-nonsense approach to things. 

“Isn’t a tracheostomy when they make a hole in your throat when you can’t breathe?” Derek’s voice rose sharply and Stiles’s head twinged painfully. “So is that what the bandage on his neck is from?” Derek sounded hesitant now but Stiles was just grateful he wasn’t being so loud.

“Yeah, exactly. Stiles should’ve known better than to be running around but the idiot just can’t keep still,” Scott said but there was fondness in his tone so Stiles forgave him for calling him an idiot.

Silence stretched out and Stiles thought about falling back asleep.

“Do you think he’ll ever talk to me?” Derek’s voice was soft. Tentative.

Scott snorted. “Who knows. You hurt him pretty badly, dude,” Scott retorted.

Derek hated the word _dude_. If Stiles could’ve mustered up the energy he would’ve fist-bumped Scott for using it.

“Yeah, I know. I just want to talk to him,” Derek insisted.

Stiles wasn’t sure he was up to a talk. He certainly wasn’t up to it at the moment. Maybe never. He was rethinking his destination to recuperate.

Warm, soft lips brushed across his forehead. It was so sweet, so tender, so unexpected; moisture flooded Stiles’s eyes in response.

“I’ll let him know you want to talk to him, Derek. Thanks again for helping me bring him back here,” Scott was ushering Derek to the door. “He’s not very heavy but his limbs sure do have a mind of their own.”

“Yeah, sure. I know how to handle those long limbs. See ya, Scott,” Derek made his escape, the door clicking shut punctuating his exit. 

There had been a time Derek had manhandled Stiles’s limbs any way he wanted them and Stiles had let him. Begged him to do it. That had been a long time ago. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Exhaustion overwhelmed Stiles’s defenses and he let the tears slip loose. 

“Hey, hey, do you need your medicine?” Scott eased down on the surface next to him. 

Stiles forced his eyes open, blinking warily. He opened his mouth, realized speaking would hurt, and settled for nodding yes. Someone had taken his sunglass off and the brightness of the room reminded him of his headache.

Scott stood up and retreated to the kitchen. Into the Stilinski’s kitchen. Stiles was at his dad’s house. At least no one else was around to witness his humiliation.

The door banged open. “Stiles! Scott said you passed out,” his dad thundered. Stiles winced at the noise.

Apparently he’d spoken too soon about no one else witnessing his humiliation.

“Hi Sheriff Stilinski. I was just getting Stiles his medicine,” Scott greeted. His best friend was as comfortable in the Stilinski home as Stiles was at the McCall’s. 

“How did he get out?” his dad grilled Scott.

Great. Stiles was back to being the dog who slipped his leash and did a runner.

“I forgot to hide the keys and he went out to the Preserve,” Scott answered.

“Huh. I really wish he’d slow down and let his body heal,” his dad muttered. “Thanks for bringing him home.”

Stiles waited for Scott to volunteer the fact Derek Hale had helped bring Stiles home. In fact Stiles had a hazy memory of being in Derek’s arms. It had been comfortable. Too comfortable.

“Sure thing,” Scott said. “Stiles, buddy, here are your pills.” Scott helped raise his upper body so Stiles could gulp down the pills and water.

“Hey, kiddo, you need to go easy for a while,” his dad appeared over Scott’s shoulder.

Stiles nodded in agreement and his body didn’t like the motion; the top of his head felt like it was going to pop clear off.

“Christ. Lay down before you pass out,” his dad’s voice was gruff. “Again.” Stiles didn’t take offense; his dad always got that way when Stiles was sick or injured.

Letting Scott ease him back down on the couch, Stiles caught his friend’s hand and squeezed it.

“Anytime, Stiles,” Scott said as he squeezed Stiles’s hand back. “I’ve got your back.” 

Yeah. Stiles could always count on Scott.

The memory of warm arms comforting tried to intrude but Stiles pushed them firmly away. He let sleep claim him as he listened to his dad and Scott speaking softly.

-0-

Derek headed down the sidewalk. They’d taken Scott’s vehicle—it was easier to maneuver Stiles into the truck than it was Derek’s sports car—so Derek could either call for a ride or hike home. Maybe the walk would give him a chance to sort out his thoughts.

Music emerged from his pocket-- _Dancing Queen_ by ABBA. Erica.

“Hi,” Derek answered, dispirited.

“Wow, who pissed in your Cheerios?” Erica’s too loud voice boomed in his ear. 

“Stiles,” Derek began to explain but had to swallow as his mouth went dry.

“No surprise there,” his friend commented

Derek dodged around a small pothole in the sidewalk as he found his voice, “I saw him and he’s pretty messed up.”

Erica’s voice grew soft. “Derek, you knew he’d been hurt before you came haring back here. What’s really bothering you?””

That was true. Derek had been on the East coast when Erica had clued him in to Stiles’s situation and his homecoming. Derek had dropped everything and taken the first flight back. He wasn’t sure when, or if, he’d ever get the chance to see Stiles again so he’d made a beeline for Beacon Hills in the hopes he could make the most of the other man’s visit home. 

Someone walked toward him but they gave Derek a wide berth. He was probably scowling. Stiles had tagged his normal resting face as serial killer chic. 

“Derek?” Erica prompted. 

“Sorry,” Derek’s thoughts were all over the place. He couldn’t get over how great it had been to see Stiles. The other man was obviously pale and shaky but he was just as beautiful if not more so than Derek remembered.

“Derek!” his friend screeched in his ear.

“Okay, yeah, I bumped into Stiles in front of my house. That’s some kind of a sign right?” he was grasping at straws here but something must’ve drawn Stiles to Derek. 

“Oh, Derek,” Erica’s tone was exasperated. This might be some sort of record he was setting—the number of times he could get his friend to say his name. “After what happened, you need to take things slow.”

What Erica meant was after Derek found out he was supposedly a father and dumped Stiles to marry Kate and provide a stabile family for their son.

“I’m trying. I guess he was taking a walk, and he passed out.” Derek tried to put his feelings into words, “I got to hold him in my arms again.”

With a heartfelt sigh, Erica replied, “It’s been four years since you last talked to Stiles. Are you sure you want to do this to yourself?”

“I know, I know,” Derek tried to placate his friend. She could be the biggest pain in the ass but he trusted her. It somehow felt like he needed her approval. “I have to try.”

“Why don’t you come over tonight?” Erica suggested. “I think it would do you some good. I’ll make dinner.”

Derek cracked a smile. Things must be pretty dire if his friend was offering to cook for him. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Look who found his funny bone. Just come over at 6, jackass. Auntie Erica will give you some free therapy. If that doesn’t work, Jack will take over,” the blond teased.

Jack Daniels; the cure-all for broken hearts everywhere.

“Yeah, sure,” Derek agreed. It’s not like he had anywhere else to be and Erica would at least provide a distraction.

Tucking his phone away, Derek realized he was making good time. It felt good to stretch his legs. Maybe when he got home he’d work out.

Derek had always taken a certain pride in his appearance but now, after holding Stiles so close, he wanted to make sure he looked his very best. It might be shallow but if he couldn’t get Stiles’s attention through apologies then he’d resort to any method available, including the tight jeans and the black leather jacket Stiles used to go wild over.

It wasn’t much of a plan but he had to start somewhere.

-0-

Stiles woke from a light doze. He knew he was on his dad’s couch but he didn’t know what time it was or who his dad was talking with.

“I’m thinking about putting a GPS tracking device on him. Do you think he’d notice?” his dad’s tone had that fond but exasperated edge to it. Stiles was used to that tone; he’d grown up listening to it.

“Actually his watch has a GPS tracking device in it,” Chris Argent replied.

What was Chris doing here? Probably checking up on him.

“We actually used it to track Stiles’s position when he went missing,” Rafael McCall chimed in. 

Hail, hail, the gang’s all here.

It was a source of amusement for the agents back east that Chris, Rafa and Stiles, assigned to work together, all had ties to Beacon Hills. For Stiles it meant he was surrounded by people who helped ease his occasional bouts of home sickness just by knowing what he was talking about when he yammered on about his dad or Scott or playing Lacrosse. 

“I just don’t understand what possessed him to go into the Preserve when he’s obviously not up to par. He was probably looking for Derek,” his dad sighed out.

Stiles wanted to object but his throat was aching. That and he probably had been drawn to Hale House subconsciously.

Stiles tried to bolster his defenses. He’d survived by distancing himself from the break-up. This damned concussion was toying with his self control, that was his problem.

“I’ll never forgive myself for blaming Stiles over their break-up. I asked him what he did to Derek. It just never occurred to me that Derek would do something like that,” his dad surprised Stiles by saying.

That was unexpected. Stiles had pretty much been in shock when Derek broke up with him and he did remember his dad asking Stiles what he’d done but Stiles hadn’t been in a place to explain what was going on just then. He hadn’t held it against his dad. Hell, Stiles hadn’t really held Derek’s actions against Derek; he just couldn’t trust the other man.

Stiles slowly sat up. There wasn’t anything he could do about Derek but he could go to his dad. He heaved himself to his feet, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

“Derek’s had a hard time of it. I don’t think anyone could’ve predicted Hurricane Kate,” Chris interjected. Chris was Kate’s brother but he definitely wasn’t blind to her faults. He’d made a comment a time or two that made Stiles think Chris wasn’t a fan of her shenanigans. Stiles never pushed him for information; that part of his life was over with it.

Rafa changed the subject; the other man didn’t like discussing what he called touchy-feely topics. “Have you had any leads on your latest investigation?”

His dad grumbled beneath his breath, something about nosey Feebs, but he grudgingly answered. “Harris was the chemistry teach at Beacon Hills High. Stiles had him and if I remember right, he was a real prick. Apparently someone else thought so, too.”

Stiles shuffled his feet toward the kitchen where the conversation was taking place. He wondered what Harris could’ve done that would’ve resulted in his apparent demise. 

“Hey, look who’s up,” Chris commented, catching first sight of Stiles as he made his way into the kitchen.

“You’re definitely looking better,” his dad assured him before he stood up and pushed Stiles into his vacated chair. “Are you hungry?”

Stiles’s stomach gave a loud rumble and everyone laughed.

Rafa climbed to his feet, Chris doing the same.

Rafa, in a surprise move, reached out and squeezed Stiles’s shoulder. “I’m very happy to see you up and about.”

Chris echoed the sentiment. “You really gave us a scare, kid. Glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks for taking care of my boy,” his dad shook first Rafa’s hand and then Chris’s.

Chris cupped the back of Stiles’s neck and gave it a light squeeze as he moved toward the door. “We didn’t actually do a bang up job,” he responded gruffly. “If we had, Stiles wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

Stiles couldn’t let that comment go. “Shove it. I’d be dead if not for you two.” Stiles had thought his throat hurt when he’d woken up on the couch but that had been just a preview. He needed his meds. Then again maybe his eyes were tearing in gratitude.

Both men said their goodbyes, telling Stiles they’d check on him later.

Stiles listened as his dad moved around the kitchen, putting together an omelet, his thoughts drifting to this afternoon.

He’d seen Derek for the first time in four years and the other man had looked fantastic. Felt fantastic, too.

This was crazy. Stiles was over Derek. Wasn’t he? Although if he had moved on, he wouldn’t be sitting her thinking about him now would he.

-0-

Derek noticed Stiles and Scott sitting at a table in No Doze Café, the only coffee shop on his side of town. After placing his order, Derek hovered by the counter waiting for it; he didn’t want the barista to call out his name because he was hoping to force contact with Stiles before the other man could run away.

It was a sneaky maneuver but desperate times called for desperate measures. Anyway, Stiles should appreciate the sneakiness; Stiles was definitely the craftier of them but Derek was making the effort.

Stiles’s back was to him but he thought Scott might have seen him. Stiles’s best friend didn’t seem to bear any malice toward Derek and he acknowledged that was due to whatever Stiles had told him about their break up; in hindsight everyone close to Stiles should be hostile toward Derek after he’d made that colossal mistake but no one had shied away or avoided him. Except for Stiles who moved across the country.

“When do you have to see the doctor again? Do they need to make sure there aren’t any repercussions from the poison being in your system?” Scott probed.

“Poison? I thought he was in a motor vehicle accident!” Derek’s voice rose sharply and Stiles’s head whipped around, eyes wide in surprise.

The barista called Derek’s name out in a loud voice, despite his proximity to the counter, and he realized his little foray into subterfuge would’ve been a bust anyway.

“Oh, sorry Derek. Didn’t see you standing there,” Scott said, tone guileless. It was a good thing Stiles was facing Derek and not his friend because Scott’s complexion turned pink at the lie.

Snatching up his coffee, Derek pulled out a chair uninvited and dropped into it. “Jesus, Stiles. No one said you’d been poisoned. What the hell happened to you?” Derek demanded.

Stiles’s head rotated, scanning the coffee shop, and he made shushing motions with his hands. Once he was assured no one in their vicinity was paying attention to them, he cleared his throat, grimacing. “I was working in the field,” the younger man’s voice was hoarse and croaky and speaking was obviously painful to him.

Scott interrupted his friend. “Give it a rest, Stiles. Seriously, you don’t want permanent scarring to your larynx. Just think how miserable you’d be if you could never speak aloud again.”

Stiles had always been a talker. He talked about everything—what he’d heard, what he’d seen, what he thought—so a silent Stiles was just not something Derek could envision.

Pulling a face at this friend, Stiles motioned to Scott to continue. 

Scott barely waited for permission before he began to speak, almost bursting at the seams. “Well Allison’s dad told her they were working a case in LA and the fugitives somehow found out Stiles was a threat to their freedom, you know he’s some sort of miracle worker when it comes to interpreting data, so first they crashed into his car and then they kidnapped him. They ended up injecting him with poison but Stiles used that high tech watch he has to notify Rafa and Chris and they swooped in to save him,” Scott explained and it sounded to Stiles like his friend derived great pleasure from relaying the juicy details. 

“So the tracheostomy was because his throat swelled close?” Derek asked, caught up in the story.

“That’s the coolest part!” Scott’s voice rose in excitement but he caught himself, lowering it again. “Allison’s dad had a fountain pen and he emptied the ink out of the cartridge and gave Stiles a field tracheostomy.”

Derek didn’t know what to do with that information. His brain was stuck on the fact Stiles had been poisoned and almost died while doing his job. Stiles looked equally poleaxed. 

The bell over the door tinkled and Scott called out, “Hey, Dad.” Pushing his chair out, he stood up. “Why don’t you two talk,” when Stiles glared at his friend who amended his statement, “okay, Derek can talk and you can listen. I’m going to have a word with my dad.”

Stiles’s mouth hung open and on another person it would’ve looked stupid but for some reason on Stiles it looked cute. Stiles’s mouth snapped shut and he raised an eyebrow at Derek.

Right. Here was his opportunity. “I wanted to tell you again how sorry I am about everything that happened when Kate claimed I was her baby-daddy. I wasn’t fair to you. Even though I did love you I was being presented with a ready-made family and I just grabbed at it. I know that’s not an excuse but I’d like to think I’ve done a lot of growing since then.”

Derek had been staring at Stiles’s face throughout his explanation and the other man’s expression maintained a blankness that Derek found frustrating. There had been a time Derek could read every emotion on Stiles’s face. 

Stiles took a deep breath. Derek had to lean forward to hear him. “I never blamed you for wanting a family Derek. I understood that. I just didn’t understand why you wouldn’t get a paternity test first, or why you felt you needed to be with Kate to raise your child, not when you already had me.” Stiles’s voice was soft and broken but Derek didn’t know if that was because of him or the damaged throat.

Stiles stared at Derek, unblinking, waiting for an explanation.

“I did love you Stiles. I just didn’t realize how much I loved you until you left.” Derek knew he wasn’t doing a good job of explaining this—it was lame—but even he didn’t know why he’d reacted the way he had when Kate had offered herself up along with her little boy. A little boy who resembled Derek’s little brother so much there had been zero doubt in Derek’s mind that he was the father.

Stiles’s smile was crooked and sad. He didn’t say anything but it was the first sign of emotion Derek had detected.

“Remember when I came to see you and told you how Kate had lied to me, you said you forgave me and then you just took off and I never heard from you. This, sitting here with you, is a dream come true. I’ve been waiting four years to ask you if we could try again. I know I blew it and I’m so, so sorry.” Derek had never been good with words. He’d never regretted it more than at this moment.

After another deep breath, which seemed to precede anytime Stiles spoke, the other man said, “Derek, I forgave you four years ago. I told you that when you came to see me when I was leaving for school.”

School. Stiles had been debating which program to pursue his Master’s degree from when they’d been together, he’d been accepted by man prestigious schools, but apparently Derek’s stupidity and sent him off to the one farthest away. In Fairfax, Virginia. 

Derek braced himself as Stiles prepared to speak some more; hope kindled deep in his chest. If Stiles had forgiven him, maybe they had a chance. Stiles’s expression didn’t give anything away.

“You were only biding your time with me. I couldn’t have meant as much to you, not the way you meant to me, if the speed in which you threw me over was any indication. I think you’re romanticizing what we had,” Stiles whispered. His pretty eyes were flat. Emotionless.

Hopes dashed, Derek’s head sunk into his hands.

Stiles’s chair scraped back followed by the door dinging as it opened.

Stiles was gone. 

Again.

And Derek had no one else but himself to blame.

-0-

Stiles jetted down the sidewalk toward the car. The car Scott had driven. Where the hell was his turncoat best friend? Stiles had had enough truths for the day and he was ready for a nap.

Or a drink.

“Wait up, Stiles,” Scott’s voice called. Stiles turned to see his friend jogging toward him, expression rueful. “I take it things didn’t go well.”

Understatement.

“Was it true?” Scott looked blank at Stiles’s question and he realized he needed to narrow it down. “Did Chris really give me tracheostomy in the field with a fountain pen?”

“Dude, stop talking. And yeah, it’s true,” Scott responded.

They resumed walking toward the truck. 

This was actually the first time someone had relayed a somewhat detailed explanation of what had happened to Stiles. He’d felt the pain of his head colliding with the steering wheel, woken up and used his Apple Watch to call for help. He hadn’t even known the two goons injected him with something and had only learned the barest of details when he’d woken up in hospital. Sure, the doctor had said he’d had a tracheostomy in the field but Stiles had assumed a paramedic had performed the procedure. Stiles knew better to assume.

He owed Chris a thank you beer. Give or take a hundred.

Scott used the FOB to unlock the doors and they slid into his friend’s blue Dodge Dakota. Stiles still remembered the excitement in Scotty’s voice when he’d called to tell him he’d bough his first vehicle. Sure, it was used, but they’d celebrated with a beer although it was long distance.

“You were kind of a dick to Derek,” Scott said as he started the truck. Scott tried hard not to be judgmental but he’d missed the mark if that had been his intent in this instance.

It was like Scott kept forgetting Stiles wasn’t supposed to speak. Or he was setting him up for failure. He couldn’t say shit like that and expect Stiles to hold his silence.

“Yeah, well, you work with The Dads,” Stiles snickered as he said that which earned him a nasty look from Scott. Right. This was supposed to be serious but Stiles always snickered, even if it was just internal whenever he said that because it was such an odd thing, working with both Scott’s and Allison’s fathers. “They taught me everything I know about maintaining a stony front.”

“So it was just a front? I gotta say, you were brutally cold when Derek begged you for another chance,” Scott announced. Apparently his friend had been eavesdropping. 

Stiles knew he had toughened up and that it wasn’t necessarily attractive, especially to people who’d known him when he was younger. He hesitated to say he’d been carefree back then—he hadn’t been carefree since before his mom got sick—but he’d had a bit of youthful naivety about him before. Losing Derek, moving across the country, getting his Master’s and working for the FBI had all shaped him into a slightly colder, more focused individual. 

Stiles thought more about what Scott had said about being brutally cold to Derek. Stiles supposed he had been but Derek had hurt him like no one else ever had. Or ever would. Stiles had vowed never to let someone else close enough to have another go. “Scotty, I haven’t had a successful relationship since Derek. What does that tell you?” Stiles responded. 

Stiles really needed to cool it with the talking though. He not only sounded like he’d been gargling with broken glass, his throat felt like it too.

“I thought I told you to quit talking,” Scott huffed out. Stiles read some forgiveness in the huff. 

The truck headed toward the Stilinski house. Both men remained silent although Stiles could tell Scott was chomping at the bit.

When Scott pulled into the driveway, he put a hand on Stiles’s arm when he went to open the door. “Stiles, you know I will respect whatever decision you make, and I certainly don’t want to see you heading off across the country again, but I wish you would think about what Derek said. Anyone can see he’s still got a thing for you. You two were good together.”

Scott was ever the romantic. Stiles would say a hopeless romantic. 

Sure, Derek and Stiles had been good together—that’s why when Derek dropped him like a hot potato it had hurt so much—and yeah, Derek might still be carrying a torch for Stiles but the person Derek had known was long gone. Stiles hadn’t been lying when he’d pointed out to the other man there was no way Derek had serious feelings for Stiles back when Kate had come a-calling. Stiles had been dropped in a New York Minute, just with the promise of a biological child. No proof. Not willing to entertain the idea that Stiles might want to be a part of Derek’s, and DJ’s, lives. 

Stiles knew even if he didn’t want to dwell on it, his thoughts would be filled with nothing else but Derek and what he’d said. 

When Stiles had woken up in the hospital, his first thoughts had been for Derek. He’d never told anyone that but it was getting harder and harder to push those feelings down and ignore them.

-0-

Derek headed where he always went when he needed an honest opinion: to Erica.

Biting on his fingernails, a habit he’d outgrown in his teens, Derek waited impatiently for Erica to answer her door.

“Derek. What a surprise. Oh wait, no, it’s not. I take it you saw Stiles and now you need a pep talk,” the blond rolled her eyes but invited Derek inside.

The apartment was neat and very feminine looking with lacy curtains and an overabundance of pillows. Erica, who favored leather pants and cleavage revealing tops, had a girly side.

Derek sank into a pile of pillows stacked against the arm of the couch while Erica went to the kitchen, opened the fridge and returned to the couch holding out a beer. “Here, you look like you could use this.”

Accepting the beer with a nod of thanks, Derek cracked open the can and took a large swallow. He wasn’t thirsty and he didn’t particular want alcohol but it gave him something to do with his hands besides fidget. Or gnaw on the cuticles.

Erica sank into the chair, displacing pillows. “Now spill,” she demanded, crossing her arms over her ample bosom while narrowing her eyes at Derek.

Derek quickly caved to her demand. “I saw Stiles at the coffee shop. Things didn’t exactly go well.”

Making the _go on_ wave with her hand, Erica invited Derek to continue while holding her silence.

“I laid my heart on the line and got it stomped. I told Stiles I’ve been waiting four years to ask him if we could try again. That I know I blew it and I’m beyond sorry,” Derek leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, while he held the can of beer loosely in his hand. 

“If you spill that, you’re going to find out what beyond sorry really means,” Erica grouched.

Leaning forward toward the coffee table, Derek set the unwanted beer on a coaster. “Sorry,” he sighed out. “He was so cold. He sat there and he stared at me, told me I was romanticizing what we had. That there was no way I could’ve loved him and cut him loose so quickly.””

“Derek,” Erica began. She was using that serious tone, the one that said she was done fucking around and was ready to let him have it with both barrels, whatever _it_ was. “The decisions you were making back then were understandable from your point of view. You were without a family and here was this woman handing you everything you’d ever wanted. But honey,” Erica leaned forward, “what you did to Stiles was plain old shitty and saying you’re sorry isn’t really going to cut it.”

Derek huffed. “I know that, Erica. I just don’t know how to fix it if Stiles won’t talk to me.” 

“Remember when you told Stiles you were breaking up with him because you were going to marry Kate and provide for your son? Stiles didn’t tell you that you were crazy, or argue with you or try to guilt you into staying with him. You said the only thing he asked of you was that you get a paternity test to make sure everything was on the up and up. You weren’t interested. Why would Stiles give you a chance now?” Erica asked, tone gentle.

Disappointment crushed Derek’s heart. “I know I fucked up, Erica. But I’ve done a lot of growing up since then.”

Erica cocked her head to the side thoughtfully. “Instead of begging Stiles for a second chance, maybe you ought to be a friend to Stiles first. Earn back his trust.”

Derek and Stiles had been friends before they’d pursued a romantic relationship. It made sense that would be the starting point again. He wanted Stiles in his life, badly, and although he’d prefer having him as his life partner he’d take friendship over nothing.

-0-

Stiles sat at the kitchen table, his laptop open, a cup of coffee in his hand. The unsolved murder case he’d heard Chris, Rafa and his dad talking about as he dozed the other day was niggling at him.

Adrian Harris had been an asshole with an axe to grind when he’d taught Chemistry to Stiles and other unlucky students at Beacon Hills High but that wasn’t really deserving of murder. What else had Harris been into that had resulted in him being tied to a tree, a garrote around his neck the cause of death.

It seemed like someone with a rather personal grudge had concluded their business with Harris but Stiles had yet to figure out anything that might point to a motive.

Wait. Stiles stared at the picture in the Beacon Hills High yearbook. Harris was standing next to…yep. Stiles didn’t believe it was a coincidence but now he needed to figure out the connection between Harris and one Kate Argent.

A knock at the front door startled Stiles and he almost slopped coffee over himself. He valiantly saved the life giving liquid though, closing his laptop and approaching the door.

Chris Argent and Rafa McCall stood on the other side of the door. Stiles opened up, holding the door open. “What brings you gentleman to Casa Stilinski?”

“Believe it or not, we wanted to check on you. We miss you,” Chris said, his blue eyes twinkling.

Rafa elbowed him in the ribs. “Speak for yourself.”

“Feeling the love, guys. Can I get you some coffee?” Stiles offered as he waved them inside. He’d just made a fresh pot and was feeling generous this morning. For the first time since before the whole job went pear shaped, he was feeling decent.

“Love some,” Chris answered, following Stiles into the kitchen.

Rafa sighed, sounding put upon. “I guess. Thank you.”

Scott’s dad could be a hard guy but deep down Stiles knew he cared. Chris was kind of the reverse, he seemed approachable and affable but he had a steel core; Stiles felt lucky Chris seemed to like him. The three of them had made a pretty good team.

 _Had made._ That was the first times Stiles had admitted he might not want to return to the FBI when he was cleared for duty. 

Grabbing mugs, Stiles doled out the coffee, taking a moment to center himself. “Black. Just like your souls,” Stiles announced, handing the mugs off. His voice was still hoarse and grated but it was a vast improvement over what he’d sounded like two days ago.

“What are you working on?” Rafa asked, sipping his coffee.

Stiles thought about stonewalling the other men, this wasn’t official business, but he decided after everything they’d been through the agents deserved his honesty. “That unsolved murder my dad is working on.”

“What do you have so far?” Chris asked, pulling out a kitchen chair and sitting down.

Rafa followed suit. 

Both men stared at Stiles expectantly. They both loved a good mystery.

“Ugh. Fine. I’m trying to figure out if Harris had any connections that might turn into a lead,” Stiles shared.

“And?” Chris prompted.

Stiles flipped open his laptop and spun it around. “What do you remember about your sister’s relationship with Harris?”

Chris studied the picture, frowning.

“Stiles, you’re making connections where there really aren’t any,” Rafa frowned too.

“Actually,” Chris tilted his head thoughtfully, “You might be on to something here. I remember Kate hanging around with another teacher when she was subbing at Beacon Hills High. She’s been dating someone before she ended up with Derek.”

“Do you know where she is?” Rafa asked.

“No. We haven’t talked since she fled town four years ago. Allison hasn’t talked to her either,” Chris responded.

“I wonder if Derek remembers anything,” Stiles pondered. “Do you think…?” Stiles shut down that line of thought.

“You want to interview Derek, don’t you?” Rafa asked, eyebrows drawn up.

“I want to interview Kate but since she’s not available, yeah, I thought Derek might remember something,” Stiles reasoned.

Rafa looked at Chris. “What do you think?”

“I think I want to know what connection Kate had to Harris. Let’s see if Derek knows anything,” Chris responded.

Kate might be Chris’s sister but there wasn’t any love lost there. Kate had been a bit of a wild child and it had bothered the by-the-book older brother. 

“Fine,” Rafa agreed. “I’ll clear it with the locals. Stiles, you arrange the interview. Where do you want to do this?”

“How about here?” Chris responded, tapping his fingers impatiently on the tabletop.

Stiles pulled out his cell phone and found Derek’s contact information. Scott had programmed it into Stiles’s phone the other day. His friend thought he was being sly but Stiles had noticed. For some reason he hadn’t deleted the number.

_Can we meet? I have ?’s_

Almost before Stiles had hit send, Derek responded: _When and where?_

_My dad’s house. 2 pm?_

_C U then_

Huh. Since when did Derek chat abbreviations? The very bold and sassy Erica must be dragging him into the modern world.

Stiles shrugged. “We’re set for 2 p.m.”

Rafa nodded that he’d heard. “I’m going to take this call in the living room.”

Stiles may have grinned as he heard his dad’s voice, loudly, on Rafa’s phone. 

Chris cleared his throat. “So, how are you feeling?”

Stiles’s grin softened. “Like I owe you a gazillion thank you’s.”

Chris sputtered, almost spitting out the mouthful of coffee he’d just taken. “What?”

“Scott told me what you did with your fountain pen. You’re as bad-ass as MacGyver. Kidding aside, I’m pretty sure I’d be dead if you hadn’t done that,” Stiles’s voice cracked, but it wasn’t from pain or damage; he was seriously choked up.

The other man looked uncomfortable as he shifted in his chair. “You’re welcome,” he settled on finally, gruffly.

Rafa entered the room. “We’re set. Now what’s the angle?”

Stiles put aside his emotions. He had a job to do and his gut was telling him he was on to something. 

-0-

Derek took a moment to compose himself before he rapped his knuckles on the front door of the Stilinski home. He was nervous, and curious, about whatever questions Stiles had for him. Maybe this was the sign he’d been waiting for, that Stiles was ready to let him back into his life.

The door opened and Derek’s lips parted with a greeting but when he looked up, someone other than Stiles was standing in the doorway.

“You’re not Stiles,” Derek blurted out.

Rafael McCall opened the door. “Come on in, Mr. Hale. This is an informal interview regarding an ongoing murder investigation and we’re hoping you can clear some things up for us if you wouldn’t mind.” It was phrased as a statement, not a question.

Derek’s heart sank right into his feet. Stiles didn’t want to talk to him about their relationship; instead he wanted to grill Derek about a…”Did you say murder? Do I need a lawyer?”

Following the man into the kitchen, Derek sat in the chair Mr. McCall pulled out for him. Check that; Special Agent McCall. Derek glanced over to where Stiles stood, in front of the coffee maker, pouring out a cup.

Special Agent McCall was quick to assuage Derek’s concerns. “You are not a person of interest in this investigation. We’re just hoping you can clear up some questions as they relate to Adrian Harris and Kate Argent due to your relationship with Ms. Argent ten years ago. You’re under no obligation to answer our questions.”

Stiles slid a cup of coffee in front of Derek, lips quirking up. It wasn’t a smile—nothing about this interview warranted a smile—but it was acknowledgment and Derek felt warmth wash through him. “Hi, Derek,” he rumbled, voice still hoarse but at least Derek could hear him. “We’re just looking for some help.” 

Leaning against the kitchen counter, Stiles took a sip from his own mug. His brown eyes were alert and they acted as a magnet, drawing Derek’s attention. He refocused on the stern faced man in front of him.

Stiles had asked for his help and he would do his best to give it.

McCall opened a laptop and spun it around so Derek could see the contents of the screen. “Do you recognize any of these people?”

Looking over the picture on the screen carefully, Derek easily identified one person. “This is Kate. And she’s standing next to the chemistry teacher.”

“That would be Adrian Harris,” McCall affirmed. “I know you were in a relationship with Ms. Argent. Do you remember her mentioning Harris during that time?”

“Well,” Derek thought back to the six months he had dated Kate, “I remember she said she ate lunch with him at school. They commiserated about lazy, obnoxious students.” Derek was uncomfortable talking about Kate in front of Stiles. He’d certainly not shied away from the topic before but now, when Derek wanted nothing more then to reestablish a relationship with Stiles, it felt strange talking about the woman who had played such a big part in their break up.

“Would you mind backing up a little? I’d like to hear how you met Ms. Argent if you wouldn’t mind,” McCall requested.

Derek did mind but he had nothing to hide so he took a deep breath and talked about his past. “I was a senior at Beacon Hills High and Kate Argent was a substitute teacher. She was teaching Senior English, my favorite class, and we just clicked. Once I graduated and ran into her at the grocery store during summer break, she asked me out. Things were going fine but we broke up after the fire. I didn’t hear from Kate again until she came to town six years later, claiming she had a son with me.” Taking a sip of coffee, Derek tried to bring his breathing under control; he’d barely taken a breath while running through the events of his life as they pertained to Kate.

“Odd question maybe but can you tell us why you didn’t reunite with Kate and DJ?” Stiles croaked out the question. He kept his eyes focused on his coffee.

McCall frowned but didn’t intercede.

“Actually, I received an anonymous note claiming I wasn’t the father of DJ. Kate skipped town before I could do a paternity test. I figured her skipping town answered the paternity question for me,” Derek explained. He kept his eyes downcast, staring into the brown liquid in the mug before him. 

“Derek,” McCall caught his attention. “You didn’t by chance hang on to this anonymous note did you?”

“I, uh, don’t know for sure. Things were a bit chaotic around that time. I could look around for you,” Derek offered.

“We would appreciate that,” McCall responded.

The silence stretched out but Derek didn’t have anything to add.

“Last question,” McCall stated. “Do you remember anything else about Adrian Harris? Maybe something Ms. Argent might have said to you?”

“I had him for Chemistry and thought he was an asshole. Kate said he was just very passionate about his subject and was misunderstood. I got the sense she liked him,” Derek answered truthfully.

McCall pushed away from the table, sticking his hand out to shake Derek’s. “Thank you so much for coming. We appreciate your help.”

It was hard to picture this cold man being related to Scott McCall, the human puppy dog.

Stiles set his cup on the counter and cleared his throat. “I’ll walk Derek out.”

McCall folded his arms over his chest but didn’t argue.

Derek followed Stiles to the door. “Stiles, what was that all about?”

Stiles turned so he was facing Derek. “Sorry about that. I remembered you mentioning Kate knew Adrian Harris. We’re looking for any connections Harris had here in Beacon Hills that might explain his death.”

“You think Kate killed Harris?” Derek asked, incredulous.

Shaking his head, Stiles frowned. “I don’t know what to think. It just feels like there’s something we’re missing.”

Derek shuffled his feet. He needed Stiles to know he hadn’t come over for whatever the FBI was doing. “I thought you asked me over here to talk about us,” Derek said.

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry. I think we maybe should talk but I need to wrap things up here. Can I call you later?”

Finally.

“Yeah. I’d appreciate it,” Derek took a chance and reached out his hand, squeezing Stiles’s forearm. “Stiles, I at least want us to be friends again.” 

The other man didn’t shy away from the contact. Derek took that as progress.

-0-

Stiles lifted his head and rubbed his eyes. His eyesight was blurry but he was pretty sure it was from overuse, staring at the computer screen for hours, not due to the after effects of the concussion.

_Adrian Harris was the father of Kate Argent’s baby._

_Derek wanted to be friends._

Both pieces of news were mind blowing to Stiles.

DJ Argent’s paternity sowed up the trifecta adding the motive to the means and opportunity. Stiles would bet his life Kate had killed Adrian Harris to keep him quiet because she wanted to pass Derek Jr. off as the son of Derek Sr. What Stiles didn’t understand was why. Sure, Derek had been smart, attractive and fit at the age of eighteen but surely Adrian Harris, an established teacher, had more to offer.

Except Derek was a Hale and the Hales were filthy rich. Sure, Derek had been provided for at a very high standard of living but he wouldn’t come into his money…

Did Kate Argent set the Hale House on fire, killing Derek’s family, just so she could trick Derek into marrying her and get her claws into his millions?

His mind kept circling back to Derek’s suggestion they could at least be friends. Derek wanted a return to their glory days but Stiles couldn’t trust the other man with his heart. Friendship though…that was maybe something Stiles was willing to try.

His head buzzed with the possibilities.

Wait, that wasn’t his head buzzing. Alarms were going off.

Stiles closed his laptop and tucked it under his arm as he kicked back the chair from the library’s computer, rising to his feet in a hurry. Heading for the exit, Stiles broke into a jog.

He was alone in the archive section of the library basement with the fire alarm trilling a warning upstairs while coming to the conclusion Kate Argent had set the Hale House on fire. Coincidence? Stiles didn’t believe in them.

Shoving at the door, Stiles staggered backward when it refused to give. 

Turning on his heels, Stiles ran for the exit on the opposite side of the room but had the same results.

Yanking out his cell phone, Stiles dialed 911.

No signal.

Smoke was filtering into the room and Stiles could neither unstick either door nor call for help. There were no windows in this section of the basement either.

Lungs tickling from the harsh smoke, Stiles dropped his laptop and drew his long-sleeved shirt over his head. The bathroom was in front of him so Stiles ducked into it, wetting the shirt, tying it around his face.

His throat throbbed from the incessant coughing.

Stiles dragged the large trashcan over and upended it so he could climb atop it. Withdrawing his Swiss Army knife, he made quick work of unscrewing the cover over the vent. It was going to be a tight squeeze but if Stiles could boost himself high enough, he could wriggle into the duct system and get to an exit that way.

With a mighty heave, Stiles pulled himself upward, using the same motion as when he did pull ups, using his feet to propel himself higher. 

Wedged into the vent high on the wall, Stiles shimmied and crawled until he was out of the bathroom. The city had put a referendum on the last ballot, polling the citizens to see if they wanted to fund a new library, and Stiles had never been more grateful the referendum hadn’t passed; in a newer building Stiles would never have found a vent large enough to accommodate his size.

It was slow going and the air continued to thicken with smoke, coughing jags impeding Stiles’s momentum. 

A bend in the ductwork was difficult to navigate but once Stiles’s cleared it, he found another vent cover. Putting his Swiss Army knife to work again, Stiles could only undo some of the screws because they were on the outside and he was on the inside.

Tears leaked from the corners of Stiles’s eyes—maybe from the smoke, maybe from frustration—but Stiles forced his body to turn around in the tight space until he could put his feet against the grill

_Bang!_

_Bang!_

_Clang!_

The third kick was the charm as the cover flew from its mooring.

Wasting no time, his energy flagging, Stiles flipped over so he exited the vent feet first. He banged his chin as he tried to push out of the opening, starbursts of color flaring across his vision.

His descent was inelegant in the extreme and Stiles was damned lucky nothing was beneath him.

Dropping heavily to the ground, Stiles lost his fight with gravity, spilling headfirst onto the tiled floor.

“Stiles?”

That sounded like Derek.

Derek crouched next to him and Stiles kicked and batted him away, confused as to why Derek was in the smoke filled library, looming over him. 

Someone had set the library on fire after barricading Stiles into the basement. Derek was in the vicinity.

Coincidence?

“Damn it, Stiles, quite fighting me. I need to get you out of here?” Derek growled.

Stiles didn’t want to quit fighting but his body had other ideas.

Derek muttered, “Finally,” before lifting Stiles upward, easing him over Derek’s wide shoulder. Stiles hung there, suspended uncomfortably, at Derek’s mercy.

The shoulder in his gut made it difficult to catch his breath, although maybe that was the smoke inhalation. Stiles blacked out for a while, his body unable to withstand the abuse.

“Stiles? Come on, don’t do this to me,” Derek’s voice was next to his ear, tickling him.

“No!” Stiles jackknifed upward, pushing away from the other man. There was something about Derek…the fire. “Did you…trap me?”

Stiles couldn’t catch his breath, wheezing and coughing.

Even squinting through the pain of his throbbing head, Stiles saw the look of pure hurt as it crossed Derek’s face. “You think I?—”

“Sir, I need you to step back,” the paramedics were on the scene, moving Derek away from Stiles.

The metallic tang of pure oxygen made Stiles gasp.

The oxygen seemed to give Stiles clarity. No one was that good of an actor; Stiles had as good as accused Derek of trying to kill him and Derek was shattered.

“Stiles, I swear it wasn’t me. I’m going to prove it to you,” Derek vowed as he melted back into the crowd gathered around them on the lawn next to the library.

Stiles tried to call Derek back but the paramedics pushed him down.

He needed to apologize. Now.

-0-

Intense hurt froze Derek’s lungs in place, his heart shattering in his chest.

Is this what Stiles had felt like when Derek had announced he was going to make a life with Kate and their son instead of Stiles? If it was then Derek deserved every shitty thought Stiles ever had about him.

 _Kate._

_It all came back to Kate._

Derek made it to the Camaro without conscious thought, aiming it toward his house.

Reflecting on his day, Derek cringed. It had started with great promise. Stiles had texted, explaining he was finishing up some research at the library and would Derek like to meet him for coffee. Derek had jumped all over the invitation. In fact, he’d been so excited he’d swung by the library to see if he could walk with Stiles to the coffee shop.

Of course arriving to find the fire alarm claxons blaring at the library and everyone, save Stiles, congregated on the front lawn, had nearly given Derek a heart attack. The hope curling in his chest had crashed and burned.

Once he’d found the reference librarian who had confirmed Stiles had been in the basement archive room but couldn’t confirm if he’d made it out, Derek had jetted through the front doors before anyone could stop him. When he’d spotted long denim-encased legs dangling from a hole in the wall, that sweet muscled ass wriggling, Derek had nearly passed out on the spot from relief. Stiles was okay.

Only Stiles thought Derek had tried to kill him. Nothing was okay.

It didn’t really surprise Derek that Kate was standing in his driveway, leaning against her SUV. She seemed to be the key to everything bad that was happening.

“Hi, Derek,” she nearly purred. “DJ is walking in the Preserve, collecting leaves, but he should be back any moment. I thought you might want to see him.”

Rage focused him until Derek’s world narrowed to the woman standing in front of him. “Why? Why did you do it?”

“Oh, honey, you’re going to have to be more specific. Do what?” Kate frowned, lips pouting. It was a studied look and Derek was certain she’d practiced it in the mirror until she had it down pat.

“Why did you set the fire?” Derek snarled.

The pretty pout melted from Kate’s face until a hardened expression replaced it. “That’s too bad. I thought your pretty little head would be busy trying to figure out how to play daddy. Now which fire are you talking about?” she reached behind her back and to Derek’s astonishment, she pulled out a gun.

_Which fire?_

Oh, fuck. Kate had killed his family.

A parody of a pout appeared, matching the baby-talk tone emerging from Kate’s mouth. “Did widdle Stiles perish too?”

Tears of rage pooled in Derek’s eyes, his hands fisting at his side. He wanted to launch himself at Kate but she had the gun pointed at him and he wasn’t so careless as to try something now; he’d at least wait for a distraction.

“Oh my God, I got him too? So much for being a big, bad government man. He totally tripped my warning system when he went poking around DJ’s medical records. Luckily I was near by. Let me tell you, that fire was even easier to set then the one that took out your family,” she crowed.

Derek could only stare in amazement.

“If you want to live, this is how things are going to play out. You and I are going to get married. You’re going to fork over huge amounts of cash to me. If you keep your mouth shut, no one else dies,” Kate snapped out her terms.

“No one else dies? Who else is left to die?” Derek croaked out.

DJ sauntered out from behind a stand of fir trees. Kate’s mouth curved into a knowing smile.

Kate would kill her own child? Kate was crazy, so all bets were off.

Both adults kept their attention on DJ as he approached. Derek was so gobsmacked, he didn’t take advantage of the distraction.

Someone else did, though.

A body barreled out from behind the SUV, tackling Kate to the ground.

The gun skittered away.

Stiles. Stiles was wrestling with Kate, DJ screaming, horrified, in the background.

Derek darted forward, wanting to help, but his feet were bowled out from beneath him when the two wrestling bodies collided with him.

By the time Derek pulled himself free of the fray, everyone was frozen in place.

DJ stood behind Stiles, his hands clutching on to Stiles’s arm. Stiles’s other arm was occupied, holding a gun on Kate.

Kate stood majestically, shaking back her long tresses, her own hands clutched around a gun.

A maniacal smile graced her face and Derek’s feet were moving, pushing against the ground, trying frantically to get between Stiles and DJ.

Except Kate wasn’t aiming for any of them. No, Kate pushed the barrel of the gun under her chin and pulled the trigger.

Stiles spun around, shielding DJ with his body, holding him back.

“It’s okay, buddy. Just don’t look,” Stiles soothed.

DJ’s face was blank and he allowed himself to be gathered into Stiles’s arms. Shock. 

Stiles tried to pass DJ into Derek’s arms but the boy wasn’t having it, instead winding his limbs around Stiles’s neck, threatening to choke him with his tight grip.

“Hi, my name is Stiles. I work for the FBI,” Stiles kept his sentences short and simple. “What’s your name?”

“DJ. My mom is…” DJ tried to look over Stiles’s shoulder but Stiles turned so he couldn’t get a good view.

“I’m sorry, DJ,” Stiles comforted, handing his gun off to Derek instead. Stiles slowly rubbed DJ’s back and hugged him close. Derek wanted to join them but first he needed to do something with the gun.

DJ gasped, a choking, sad noise. “Why?”

“I think your mom was sick, DJ. It didn’t have anything to do with you,” Stiles announced in a croaky voice. 

For some reason that calmed DJ. Or at least it caught his attention. “You sound funny.”

“Well, I’m a funny guy,” Stiles replied.

Derek put the gun on the roof of his car. He wanted to comfort DJ but he didn’t want to go near him with a loaded gun. “Hey, DJ, you probably don’t remember me but I’m Derek. Stiles here has been through a lot today. What do you say we let him sit down and rest?” Derek suggested. He wanted to enfold both the man and boy into his arms and take care of them.

DJ shook his head yes, his wavy dark hair dancing on his head, but he tightened his grip on Stiles. With a hand to Stiles’s low back, he guided the other man toward the house. He unlocked the door and ushered them into the living room where Stiles gratefully collapsed on to the couch, DJ still curled tightly in his arms.

“Could you call my dad?” Stiles’s hoarse voice asked softly.

Grabbing his cell phone from his pocket, Derek found the contact information and dialed Sheriff Stilinski.

“Derek, do you know where Stiles is? He managed to slip away from the paramedics,” the older man sounded part worried and part exasperated.

“Yes, sir, he’s here with me at my house. We had a bit of a stand off with Kate Argent,” Derek moved into the kitchen, hopefully out of DJ’s hearing. “Kate killed herself after fighting with Stiles. DJ saw it. Sir, she killed my family. She tried to kill Stiles,” Derek finished his explanation, his voice tapering into a whisper.

“Crap. I’m sorry, Derek. I’m on my way. I’m going to have them send an ambulance, too. Derek?” Sheriff Stilinski queried; maybe he thought Derek had set the phone down or something.

“Yes, I’m still here,” Derek answered.

“Quit calling me Sir. I’ll see you in about fifteen minutes.” The sheriff disconnected the call.

Derek smiled for the first time in what felt like years.

Returning to the living room, he sat on the couch next to Stiles when the other man beckoned him over. As soon as he made contact, Stiles’s arm reached out and dragged him close.

Derek put a hand on DJ’s back and curled his other arm around Stiles’s shoulders, hauling the other man as close as possible. The three of them huddled together, taking comfort from each other.

“So DJ, did you know Derek here is a first class tree climber?” Stiles dropped the non sequitur casually, as though this was an informal gathering and the fight and subsequent events outside hadn’t happened.

“He is?” DJ’s head pulled away from the crook of Stiles’s neck as he stared first at Stiles and then swiveled his head to look at Derek.

It wasn’t as difficult as Derek had thought it would be, to store away the shock from Kate’s earlier actions for later, as he talked to the boy about their shared love for the outdoors.

Stiles kept his arms protectively around DJ and the boy rested against him but he let himself be drawn into normal conversation.

“Hello? Can I come in?” Sheriff Stilinski’s voice called from the entrance.

DJ tensed in Stiles’s arms.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. That’s my dad. He’s the sheriff and I bet if you ask very nicely, he’ll let you play with the lights and sirens on his squad car,” Stiles’s voice had that gargled on glass quality.

“He will?” DJ’s eyes were huge but he had a look of expectancy that made Derek smile.

“I think so. Why don’t you tell him it’s okay to come inside?” Stiles suggested.

“We’re in here, Sheriff!” DJ’s voice sang out loudly, both Derek and Stiles cringing away from the sudden noise.

“Well hello there, boys,” the sheriff greeted them.

“Sheriff?” DJ asked as he turned in Stiles’s lap to stare at the uniformed man. 

“Yes, son?” the older man asked, his face lined with worry.

“Stiles said I could play with your lights and sirens if I asked nicely. Could I please, sir?” DJ asked solemnly.

“Well,” the sheriff said, hitching his fingers into his belt. “On one condition.”

“What’s that?” DJ squirmed on Stiles’s lap.

“You’ll have to wear my hat, too,” he announced with gravitas.

DJ’s face broke into a smile. It wasn’t a huge smile but it was encouraging.

“I can do that,” DJ announced.

Derek thought perhaps he could see where Stiles acquired his easy manner when it came to interacting with kids. At one time Derek would’ve thought it was because Stiles was still a kid at heart but that didn’t seem to be true anymore. Then Derek thought about Stiles’s childhood; Claudia had died when Stiles was about DJ’s age. 

He didn’t know for sure why DJ was bonding so easily with Stiles but Derek was grateful he had Stiles in his life. At least he hoped he did. After all, Stiles had shown up to save the day.

Vehicles crunched on the gravel outside. The quiet little interlude was over.

Sheriff Stilinski took his hat off and held it out. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s try out the bells and whistles on my car.”

DJ looked from Stiles to Derek, seeking approval from both of them. “Can I?”

Stiles’s smile was tired. “I think that’s a great idea,” the last word was barely audible, his voice cracking ominously.

“Go on ahead, DJ. We’ll be out in a little while,” Derek concurred.

Gnawing on his lip for a moment, DJ finally scrambled off of Stiles’s lap, letting the Sheriff settle the too large hat on his head.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked softly. The last he’d seen of Stiles, he’d been suffering from smoke inhalation.

Stiles nodded. “Uh-huh. What about you?” The whispered question seemed to hurt the other man who swallowed with a grimace.

“I’m scared. What will happen to DJ?” Derek asked.

Reaching his arms out, Stiles pulled Derek into a hug. “DJ has a lot of people in his corner,” the other man rasped in Derek’s ear. “And so do you.”

He’d felt so alone for so long, not that Derek could put the blame on anyone else for his poor decisions. But now, here with Stiles in his arms, he felt like maybe he’d turned a corner.

-0-

“I still can’t believe you gave your notice,” Derek whispered, perhaps with awe, as he handed Stiles a cup of coffee. They were standing in the Hale House kitchen, surrounded by marble, but the room still gave off a homey vibe. 

Stiles had finally taken his head out of his ass. Derek had hurt him, badly, but it was on Stiles if he didn’t take another chance on love with him. 

Stiles shrugged. “I don’t want to travel any more. Everything I need is right here in Beacon Hills.” The two men hadn’t gone into deep explanations regarding the change of heart in Stiles, content to enjoy each other’s company.

Derek’s face melted into a gooey expression; most people said Derek was cold and insensitive but they just didn’t know the guy. He was one big ole marshmellow.

Did that make Stiles the mug of hot chocolate? Or maybe the rice krispies? Stiles didn’t know what it was with him and metaphors lately but his brain needed to cool it. 

Derek grabbed the hand Stiles wasn’t using to cradle his coffee. “So what are you going to do with your time?”

“I’ve been offered a job with the sheriff’s department. As long as I don’t direct report to my dad, there’s no conflict,” Stiles explained. He’d been worried about that. He’d looked up to his dad his whole life and he very badly wanted to work with him but there were rules in place about family working together and they were there with good reason.

A smile burst across Derek’s face. It was a look of pure joy. “So you’re going to stay here? What a coincidence, so am I. In fact I was wondering if you’d like to move in here. With me. Together.”

Derek was babbling. It was very endearing. Stiles used to babble. Being in the FBI had pretty much broken him of that habit. It was cute to see it lived on in the usually stoic Derek. “I would love to live with you, Derek.” Stiles cleared his throat. He still sounded like he had a four-pack-a-day cigarette habit but the pain was manageable. “But you know, this house is kind of big for just two people.”

“What did you have in mind?” Derek asked, seemingly intrigued.

“I was thinking we could get licensed as a foster home and take in DJ. Maybe even adopt him. Is that something you might want to do? I know I’m kind of springing—oof!” Derek tackle-hugged Stiles. “I guess that’s a yes.”

“You just keep surprising me,” Derek murmured, pulling Stiles in closer, sealing their lips together. When they broke apart, mainly for oxygen, Derek continued as though he’d never paused, “I can tell you’re going to keep me on my toes.”

“Keep ‘em guessing, that’s my motto,” Stiles quipped back. 

Stiles had approached Chris about fostering DJ since Chris was the boy’s uncle. Chris said if a better situation didn’t present itself, he would take in DJ. His mentor explained that he loved the kid but Chris wasn’t sure how great he’d be at nurturing at this point in his life since he was committed to his job. The man had given his blessing to Stiles and that had meant the world to him.

Allison and Scott had thought about taking in DJ and probably would have if not for the fact Allison was pregnant. They hadn’t broken the news to the grandparents-to-be yet and Stiles had kept his mouth shut. The two were on the fast track to get married, no one had ever doubted they would, but both Rafa and Chris were a little old fashioned when it came to wedlock and Stiles had a suspicion there would be bumpy times ahead while the expectant parents smoothed things over.

There was no denying Stiles felt a connection to DJ. He looked like a miniature Derek and he’d lost so much. Stiles ached to give him the stability the kid craved.

It had been a tumultuous month between Stiles’s injury, homecoming, solving the murder, exposing Kate’s lies and reuniting with Derek. Stiles didn’t think he could keep up that pace but he thought being with Derek was worth the effort.

It was cruel world out there at times. Hell, Stiles had learned that at an early age when his mom passed away. Sure, the break up with Derek had been messy and painful and Stiles had hardened because of it but maybe he’d needed to, at least a little. Finding his way back here, being with Derek again, was worth all of the trouble.

 

Finis

**Author's Note:**

> This fills the prompt Loss of Voice for my Hurt/Comfort Bingo card.
> 
> Due to major (unhappy) life events these last works I post might be a little rougher than I would prefer but I'm committed to filling all of the prompts on my card so I'm releasing this without a final read through.


End file.
